The Fort Mudge Memorial Dump

I haven't cried since 10:00 yesterday morning, so I guess that's progress. It's been exactly a week since Snip crashed. Lily is eating like a horse and doesn't seem to mind being an only cat for now. But I did go to petfinder to see what's out there. I can't adopt another cat yet, but the all-white blue-eyed five-month-old kitten is awfully cute. She'll be rehomed by next week, of course.

I am in fact getting a ride to CT for Thanksgiving. I need to go, for my own sanity. It's only a day trip and I need to not sit here alone with a Snip-shaped hole in my heart on Dad's favorite holiday.

Snip is gone. Pancreatic cancer. There was nothing I could have done for it, but I feel so guilty for letting her be sick on Thursday and Friday and then all I could do between Saturday and Tuesday was stick her with needles and watch her try to walk and try to drink and hang on until today. I don't know if it's worse that I understood what was happening to her, or that she didn't.

My bed feels empty, because she used to come to bed with me and lie on top of me until I wanted to roll over, and then she would take up as much space as possible. Lily sleeps in the living room.

I sent Snip's puffball with her, because seeing the puffball in the empty cat bed on Friday, while she was on my bed, broke my heart. And it broke again last night when I realized she would never use the bed in the office again.

Eccentric and opinionated, if it's fish gimme that, I killed my puffball again!, go wash Lily's ears for her, willya, look at the DAGGERS you've got!, SnipFoot.